


The Taste of chasing Criminals across London

by OnceSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Case Fic, First Kiss, Fluff, In Character, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pre-Reichenbach, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceSherlock/pseuds/OnceSherlock
Summary: “Excuse me, where is my key?” Sherlock asks. He is already annoyed at this man.The innkeeper looks puzzled. “I’m sorry? Do you need two rooms?”“Yes, obviously.”Unfortunately.“I am a bit tired so please do hurry up.”The man searches through his papers and after a while looks up at Sherlock apologetically.“I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. There must have been a misunderstanding. Dr. Huxtable only booked one room for you and I’m afraid that we’re booked up.”“Oh for god’s sake – ““It’s okay.” John interrupts him. Sherlock is puzzled.What?Does John really want to share a room with him?Of course we’ll be needing twoechoes in the back of Sherlock’s mind.





	The Taste of chasing Criminals across London

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the May's Johnlock challenge of hiatustory "Bedsharing" on tumblr.
> 
> The case is loosely based on The Adventure of the Priory School (if you were wondering about the fancy names).  
> This fic is un-beated, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know & I'll correct them ;)

“Do we have everything?” John asks, carrying a suitcase in one hand and his jacket in the other. He’s slightly sweating, Sherlock notices. He holds the front door open for John and his ridiculously large suitcase. “We will only be gone for two nights. That is, unless I solve the case today, then we can leave tomorrow morning,” he responds. He lifts a hand to call a cab and sighs. Even he finds it a bit too warm in the sun and considers taking off his coat.  


“Yeah sure, it’s not like you didn’t want to bring a suitcase at all, leaving me to the task of packing for the both of us,” John replies sarcastically. Sherlock ignores his comment, takes the suitcase from John and hovers it into the boot of the cab. He goes around the car and manoeuvres himself into the back seat. John is already in the seat next to him.  


“So why do we need to go to Sussex for a case? Is it really that promising?” John asks. Sherlock can’t keep himself from grinning. “Oh John, if you had any idea. There’s a boy gone missing from his preparatory school. He didn’t disappear alone, however, he seems to have taken his German teacher and the latter’s bicycle with him. There are no suspects, no traces – according to the police – and no apparent reason for anyone to kidnap the kid. It’s like Christmas in summer.”  


“Alright, although I doubt it’s like Christmas for the family.”  


Sherlock only gives him a look, one John must know well enough.  


“Let’s just contain our excitement when we talk to the relatives, okay?”  


Sherlock rolls his eyes. Poor John, always thinking about compassion and all these dull little things. If he deleted some of that, he could be far more intelligent. He might even be able to acquire some of Sherlock’s skills of deduction. But then again, Sherlock has to admit, he wouldn’t be nearly as fascinating.  


***  


They arrive after a two hour train ride in Sussex. Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable ( _what a ridiculous name_ ), the founder of the preparatory school and the person who contacted Sherlock two days prior, collects them from the station and drives them directly to Finn Saltire’s house, the father of the disappeared ten-year-old.  


“Were you saying Finn Saltire?” John asks while getting out of Dr. Huxtable’s car.  


“That is correct, Dr. Watson. I hope you can now understand my concern about complete decency,” the short-sighted man replies. Upon seeing him for the first time at Baker Street, Sherlock knew that this man had nothing to do with the kidnapping. He burst into tears while telling his story, which put Sherlock into the uncomfortable position of having to offer comfort, since John had been at the clinic.  


“Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me?”  


“Tell you what?”  


“That our client is Finn Saltire?” He must notice Sherlock’s look of confusion as he adds: “The famous baseball player?”  


“John, you know that I deleted most information about the solar system. Does it really surprise you that I do not happen to know some infamous person who does sports for a living?” He responds. _You also know that I know your sleeping habit, the exact temperature you prefer your tea and the fabric of every single one of your tedious jumpers. _  
__

____

John shakes his head and starts laughing. “Never mind,” he chuckles.  


***  


The case is promising. It reminds Sherlock of the Henry Knight case, the one that his flatmate had so romantically called The Hounds of Baskerville on his blog. Even though he would never admit it, Sherlock enjoys leaving London every once in a while. The countryside always reminds him of his parent’s home and the air is significantly fresher than in the cab-filled city. John seems to enjoy it as well, which is another bonus.  


After Mr. Saltire had told them about his son, Thomas, who had disappeared with his German teacher Mr. Heidegger and his bicycle after school, Sherlock talked to an incompetent police officer _(why are they always incompetent?)_. The officer with a dubious professional past admitted, after giving Sherlock a long look, that they had found Thomas’ school cap in the woods, close to the local inn. This of course was no news to Sherlock, as he had already suspected that the kidnapper would take the boy cross-country to distance himself from curious eyes.  


Currently, Sherlock listens to John’s heavy breathing right next to him, jogging around the forest looking for clues.  


“I need… to exercise... more,” John pants. Sherlock has to repress a smile. He looks at his flatmate who admittedly has gained approximately two and a half pounds since he moved in with Sherlock, but who still looks well-trained in his navy shirt. Especially his arms and shoulder blades look strong and muscular, and Sherlock eyes them carefully.  


Suddenly he realises that John expects him to answer, so he quickly looks in the opposite direction while replying: “I don’t think you do.”  


“Why, because it’s all just transport?” John asks with a slight smile that makes Sherlock’s heart flutter for a second.  


“I simply don’t think you need it,” Sherlock says with a quick glance down John's body. He needs to focus! Why are there cow traces everywhere?!  


John seems surprised. “You think I look athletic? Next to you?!”  


“Well, if you are so eager to find out I think you look a –” “Sherlock!” John interrupts him. “Look!”  


He points at a large tree in front of them and starts jogging towards it. Sherlock follows immediately. There is a bicycle slightly hidden underneath a pile of leaves, but it's not alone. The body next to it is already cold. Dried blood on the forehead reveals the cause of death.  


Sherlock bends down to examine the body closer. Apart from the wound on the head, there are no bruises or signs of physical violence. His fingernails and the shape of his neck tell Sherlock everything he needs to know about the man’s teaching profession.  


“Is this..?”  


“Yes, John. This is Mr. Heidegger.”  


John leans in closer to Sherlock to look at the wound. The unmistakeable scent of John fills the air around Sherlock and makes the lonely forest feel like home.  


“I’d say he must have died about three hours ago. That’s strange. I somehow thought he might have something to do with the kidnap,” John says.  


Of course you did, Sherlock wants to say, but experience has taught him not to.  


***  


It’s late in the evening when they arrive at the hotel. They have spent the rest of the day calling and then talking to the local police again. Dr. Huxtable has apparently organised their accommodation and already deposited John’s suitcase at the _Fighting Cock Inn._ The innkeeper, a tall man with a notorious lack of sleep called Reuben Hayes, welcomes them in Sussex and offers them a key. John takes it and just as Sherlock is about to ask for his own, Mr. Hayes wishes them a good night.  
“Excuse me, where is my key?” Sherlock asks. He is already annoyed at this man.  


The innkeeper looks puzzled. “I’m sorry? Do you need two rooms?”  


“Yes, obviously.” _Unfortunately. _“I am a bit tired so please do hurry up.”  
__

____

The man searches through his papers and after a while looks up at Sherlock apologetically.  


“I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes. There must have been a misunderstanding. Dr. Huxtable only booked one room for you and I’m afraid that we’re booked up.”  


“Oh for god’s sake – “  


“It’s okay,” John interrupts him. Sherlock is puzzled. _What?_ Does John really want to share a room with him? _Of course we’ll be needing two_ echoes in the back of Sherlock’s mind.  


John throws a look at him that Sherlock does not quite understand and says: “We’ll share. It’s not like we don’t share a suitcase anyway.”  


He turns around and hovers their luggage up the stairs. Sherlock follows him quietly, his mind swirling.  


***  


The room is small and dusty. It consists of one double bed and a tiny bathroom. There’s hardly any space for the suitcase. Sherlock is the first to go undress in the bathroom. He can barely unpack his pajama bottoms ( _John has packed the grey ones for him – interesting_ ) without hitting his elbows on the walls. When he gets back to the bedroom, he feels slightly nervous. He hasn’t shared a bed with anyone since he was on a family trip to the beach, where he had to spend too much time with his annoying little cousin, whom he had chosen over Mycroft to share a room with. It ended horribly. However, he has certainly never shared a bed with John Watson.  


John gives him a quick glance and clears his throat before stepping into the bathroom himself. Sherlock decides to lay down and get under the huge floral printed blanket for two. He waits and listens as John brushes his teeth and puts on his sleeping clothes. John returns in his pajama bottoms which Sherlock has seen before many times but doesn’t remember ever looking so thrilling. He’s also wearing a white muscle shirt, which is quite unusual for him. Sherlock finds that he has to swallow for some reason.  


“Too hot,” John says, looking down at his shirt. “Do you want me to turn off the lights?” he asks.  


Sherlock nods in response, as he doesn’t trust himself to form coherent sentences. He has automatically lay down on the right side of the bed, because he knows John prefers sleeping on the left. Once John turns off the light the room darkens completely. It makes Sherlock feel relieved and frustrated at the same time.  


“Shit,” John says. “It’s not like in the city without all the street lights out here, is it? Where are you?”  


“I’m right here, just take two steps to the front and one step to the left and you should feel the bed.”  


Sherlock can feel the left side of the bed dipping when John lies down. He tugs on the bed sheet and suddenly stops. “Do we only have one blanket?” He has started to whisper, Sherlock notices.  


“I’m afraid so,” he replies. “Do you want me to...”  


He hasn’t quite figured out what to propose when John says: “No, it’s fine.”  


He shifts his body around until he faces Sherlock. He must be very close, as Sherlock can feel his warm breath against his own. It makes Sherlock slightly dizzy.  


“Do you think you’re gonna solve the case tomorrow?” John asks.  


“I don’t know,” Sherlock responds honestly. He’s starting to feel that he has no rush to solve the case. Does it really matter if they stay in this hotel a night longer, or two?  


“I hope you do. The poor lad…” John begins, but Sherlock is only half listening. Of course John wants him to solve the case as quickly as possible. _He doesn’t want to share a bed with you, you idiot!_ Sherlock rolls over to the side, now facing the wall. John doesn't have to realise how much he's enjoying this.  


“If you don’t mind, I would like to sleep now,” he interrupts John’s talk.  


“Oh, of course. I’m sorry,” John replies. If Sherlock didn’t know any better, he would suspect to hear disappointment in John’s voice. “Goodnight then.”  


“Goodnight, John.”  


Sherlock closes his eyes, but he can still feel John’s presence. They aren’t technically touching, although they're only mere centimetres apart, but there is a warmth spreading from John’s body that feels unknown and fascinating. Sherlock can still feel John’s breath, now growing steadier and calmer against his neck. It sends small shivers down Sherlock’s spine, which he thinks come from him being a bit ticklish. _He is, isn’t he? _  
__

____

John is quiet and, after a couple of minutes, falls asleep. Sherlock, on the other hand, lies awake, trying to witness the most of this experience. He tucks his feet in slightly, until the point where his right leg touches John’s foot. He rests it there, enjoying the warm touch. After a while, he bends over to carefully look at the face next to him. A small glimmer of moonlight shines through the window, allowing Sherlock to see John’s face. John smiles in his sleep, looking content and as beautiful as ever. Sherlock thinks about touching his cheek, but doesn’t want to wake John and so turns back around after another long while.  


Something about the situation seems wrong. It's a slight detail that doesn’t reveal itself to Sherlock yet. He thinks about the case, but there is practically no chance that he won’t solve it tomorrow. The solution has to be quite simple. He goes through the details in his mind, trying not to fall asleep as he grows more and more tired. John’s steady breath adds to Sherlock’s tiredness. John, who is lying next to him. Asleep. In a muscle shirt. John. His last thought before drifting off is that John never falls asleep so quickly, because he usually struggles with the anticipation of a nightmare.  


***  


When Sherlock wakes up the next morning, the other side of the bed is empty. For a moment he can’t hide his disappointment, but he hears the shower running in the small bathroom. When John enters the bedroom, his silvery hair is still damp from the shower. He smiles down at Sherlock.  


“I didn’t think I’d be the one to wake first.”  


“I guess…” _I sleep quite tight next to you._ “… the bed is more comfortable than I thought.”  


They get ready and leave the hotel room. Breakfast is served at the terrace of the inn. Sherlock watches John eat a bagel. He isn’t hungry himself, as usual on cases. When John complains about not being able to eat when being stared at, Sherlock eyes his surroundings instead. The inn apparently belongs to a farm, as there is a stable and a barn on the property next to the main building. There are horses grassing on the meadow and the view is what some people with more romantic tendencies than Sherlock might call picturesque.  


“Where are the cows?” John asks while chewing.  


“Well, I guess they’re – no, wait.” Sherlock is startled. There are no cows, why are there no cows? _Oh, interesting. _  
__

____

“I don’t think there are any.” He looks up at John, his brilliant flatmate. His conductor of light, as he had once so embarrassingly declared aloud. How could Sherlock have missed something so obvious?  


He gets up from his chair and drags John along.  


“We need to leave, now.”  


“But I haven’t finished…”  


“Now.”  


Sherlock pulls John towards the stable. The gate is open, so he just slips through and John follows him. The stable smells terrible. There is hay everywhere, and a couple of horses are in their boxes, the male ones apparently. Sherlock approaches one of them, but the black horse starts to snicker immediately.  


“You need to be respectful with it,” John says. He takes a step forward and slowly strokes the animal’s nose bridge. “See?”  


“Why do you know anything about horses?” Sherlock can’t keep himself from asking.  


“When I was younger my mum used to take me and Harry to local farms during holidays, we were too broke to go anywhere else.” John shrugs his shoulders.  


Sherlock clears his throat. He can imagine little John on the back of a horse quite vividly. It's an image he will have to add to John’s room in his mind palace later.  


“I need to take a look at its hooves, John.”  


John stares from the gate separating them from the horse back to Sherlock. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”  


Sherlock can feel a smile appear on his face, something he has almost gotten used to in John’s presence. “I might have an idea.”  


***  


Later that day, Sherlock and John share a comfortable silence while hiding in a bush close to the inn. After Sherlock and John had successfully climbed over the gate to look at the horse’s hooves, a suspicion arose inside of him. The hooves showed clear evidence of recent shoeing, but with old shoes and new nails. As Sherlock was just about to decide on how to take a hoof-print of the animal, Mr. Hayes arrived and demanded them to leave. Even though John assured Sherlock that that was a completely normal reaction, Sherlock still found his mere shouting irritating. They spent the rest of the day wandering around town to gather further information, without success.  


“Why exactly are we doing this again?” John whispers. He is close to Sherlock, very close, almost closer than strictly necessary for the situation.  


“I need one final piece of evidence, John. I expect to find it here.”  


The air has gotten a bit chilly and Sherlock feels a goose bump crawling onto his arms. He mentally curses himself for not bringing his Belstaff..  


“You’re cold, aren’t you?”  


“Don’t be ridiculous.”  


“You are! It’s because you always wear the damn coat. It makes you acclimatised to warmth. Come here.” John says, raising his own arm as to invite Sherlock in. _He can’t mean that, can he?_  


“What do you expect me to do?” Sherlock asks. He needs to be sure, otherwise he’s going to make a fool of himself.  


“Just, you know. Let me warm you.” John phrases it as if it's the most normal thing, as if they do this every day. _When has anything ever been normal for us? _  
__

____

After a moment of silence, Sherlock decides to accept the offer by slowly leaning closer to John. It has gone quite dark, although not dark enough for Sherlock not to notice the way John stares at him when he actually takes the offer. John probably didn’t expect this, Sherlock thinks. Maybe this was a bad idea. But once he touches John’s side with his own, once John takes his right arm around Sherlock and starts to stroke Sherlock’s arm with his hand, all thoughts are gone. _Is this what friends are supposed to do? _  
__

____

Sherlock needs to bend his back in order to reach John’s height, he can feel tiny branches of the bush poking into his legs. His right ear itches and his feet start to hurt from this ducked position, and yet Sherlock can’t remember a better moment in his life.  


After a couple of minutes, John clears his throat and straightens up a bit. “Sherlock, there’s someone approaching.”  


Reluctantly, Sherlock stands up. John is right. There is a cyclist approaching the inn, coming from the direction of Mr. Saltire’s mansion. The mansion has a direct access to the inn, a small path that is otherwise unused. The proximity to the mansion was the main reason why Dr. Huxtable had picked this inn for Sherlock and John. The cyclist leaves his bike outside and enters the backdoor of the inn.  


“That must be him! Let’s go.”  


Sherlock gets out of their hiding place, hearing John follow him. He walks straight up to the bike and begins to examine the tyres. “I knew it!” He claims to no one in particular.  


“What? What did you find?” John asks from behind.  


“These tyres are exactly the same ones we found yesterday.”  


“You mean in the moor?” – “Obviously.”  


“But how…?”  


“John, I will explain this later. I need to look inside the inn’s kitchen first, and see who is having a meeting there.”  


***  


“That was ridiculous!” John laughs. They have entered their hotel room, both a bit out of breath and giggling, and it reminds Sherlock a lot of their very first case together. John had just helped Sherlock look at the meeting by serving as a stepladder, as the cyclist had not gone into the kitchen but into the cleaning chamber on the first floor, instead. After Sherlock had made some interesting deductions about the case, with John panting beneath him, he quickly ducked himself out of the way when the cyclist looked over to the window. John couldn’t keep his balance and Sherlock practically fell on top of him. After a moment of John gazing up at him and Sherlock blinking hastily, they heard a noise from the first floor, quickly stood up and ran away.  


“It was. And it helped me solve the case.”  


“You solved it? Then tell me. We could go and find the boy now.” John says. _Oh John, you brilliant idiot. _  
__

____

“The boy is in no danger anymore, believe me. I also need to collect one last piece of evidence. Tomorrow. It’s too late now.” _I don’t want to leave yet. _  
__

____

“Oh… okay. So the lad’s fine?” John asks.  


“He's perfectly fine and in a warm bed, trust me.”  


“I’ll go get changed then.”  


Sherlock sits on the bed and waits for John. Somehow, he's even more nervous than last night. He feels like a school boy about to break some rule, one he didn’t even knew existed. It’s annoying.  


John joins him on the bed. This time, he wears a proper T-shirt. Sherlock can’t hide the hint of frustration crawling onto his expression. He leaves for the bathroom himself and finds John still sitting on the side of the bed when he returns.  


“It’s still quite early.” John says. “Are you tired?”  


“No.”  


“We could… I don’t know, watch TV?” he suggests.  


Sherlock raises an eyebrow in response. “Okay.”  


“Do you want to do something else?” John asks.  


“No, it’s fine.”  


Sherlock reaches for the remote and turns on the small TV that hangs up on the wall on the opposite side of the room. From their current angle, they can’t see anything, so he decides to lay back on his side of the bedstead. John follows his example and lies down close to him. Their arms are almost touching. Sherlock flaps through the programme until he finds some boring TV show he knows John loves. It involves baking.  


“You really want to watch Bake Off?” John wonders.  


“You watch it every Sunday night.”  


“Yeah, but you usually refuse to watch it with me.” Sherlock can feel John’s eyes resting on him. He can also feel the side of John’s arm almost touching his. He decides that he doesn’t mind staying in this position a bit longer.  


“Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do tonight,” he responds.  


They watch the programme for a while. Sherlock doesn’t understand how a man of John’s intelligence can possibly enjoy such dull things. He watches in silence and mentally goes through a list of body parts he will have to collect from the morgue on Tuesday morning, but he can't concentrate well. He's painfully aware of John’s proximity. If he only shifted a little bit further, their arms would touch. _Would John want that, though? _  
__

____

When the show is over, John turns to his side, facing Sherlock. Sherlock turns off the TV and does the same.  


“So, what did you think?”  


“Do you really want to know that, John?”  


John raises an eyebrow. “Probably not.”  


Sherlock doesn’t know what to say next, so he stays silent instead. John is the only person he can share a comfortable silence with. Not the kind of _just shut up or leave_ silence, but one where words simply aren’t necessary. John has gone silent, too. They only look at each other, both in their own thoughts. It’s something they have done before, but never for an extended period of time, Sherlock realises. He carefully studies John’s features. His blue eyes, the tiny wrinkles around them and his greyish hair. He then risks to look at his lips, no longer able to refuse. John licks his lips, and it seems almost like an invitation.  


“So, I think we should go to sleep,” John finally says, breaking the silence. His voice sounds strange, deeper somehow, and he clears his throat.  


Sherlock reacts quickly. “Yes, of course. I’ll turn off the lights this time.”  


He gets up, locks their door and switches the lights off. When he crawls back into bed he could swear that John is lying even closer to him. 11,3 cm closer approximately. He can feel John’s breath on his face again and feels his own heart beating in an irregular speed. His body is betraying him again.  


“Today was fun, wasn’t it?” John asks.  


“Yes.”  


“Will we leave tomorrow, then?”  


“Yes.”  


“Do you want to explain what happened to the kid, yet?”  


“No.”  


“Fine.” Now John sounds slightly annoyed.  


“It’s all fine. He’s fine, I promise. I’m just really tired right now.” Sherlock can’t think of a better excuse.  


“You – tired?” _Dammit. _  
__

____

“Yes, apparently I am. Doesn’t happen very often, but if it does, I do require some sleep. Even my brain needs reproduction of the oligodendrocytes to function properly.”  


“Alright. Goodnight then.”  


Sherlock doesn’t respond for a very long time. He keeps his eyes on John, who has apparently closed his own, and thinks. He listens to John’s steady breathing. When he finally whispers “Goodnight, John.” John is already asleep.  


This time, Sherlock doesn’t intent to sleep at all. This is probably the last time he’ll be this close to John in a long time, if not ever. He watches John again, ignoring the warmth currently spreading in his chest. Since they are face-to-face this time, it’s easy to bend forward and close the short distance between them. Right before John’s lips, Sherlock stops. Instead of doing what he imagined himself doing so many times, he pulls back slightly and rests his right hand under his cheek. He knows he probably shouldn't do it, but he can’t fight the urge to touch John just once. He slowly starts to stroke John’s head with his left hand. He touches John’s temples and his forehead, and then starts to slide his fingers through John’s hair. It feels so soft, if he could just –  


“Sherlock?”  


_Oh._  


“Sherlock, what are you doing?” Sherlock can see John opening his eyes.  


He has to react quickly. What is the best excuse, what can he say? He tries to think but his brilliant mind has apparently decided to leave him in this very moment. _Idiot._  


“Nothing, eh, I was just looking for… you had a thing in your hair and I…” God, he sounds less convincing than the last murderer he had caught in the act.  


John says nothing. Sherlock feels humiliated. What was he thinking? Did the proximity to John shut down his mind completely? The worst thing is, he can’t even see John’s face properly, can’t deduce what John could possibly be thinking right now. Maybe the only way out of this is to finally confess everything to John. John is going to be mad, he probably won’t admit it right away, but eventually he’ll want Sherlock to sleep elsewhere. He’ll probably refuse to talk to him for a week, but can it get any worse than this?  


“John, there’s something I should say. You probably won’t be prepared for this, but I hope you’ll understand where this is coming from and eventually forgive me.”  


“Sherlock, don’t.”  


“Why?” Sherlock is surprised at how desperate he sounds. This is not acceptable.  


“Because there’s no need for forgiveness. God, look at us. We’re both such idiots!” John replies.  


“While I do agree that you occasionally are, I do not see how you’ve come to the conclusion that I – “  


He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. John interrupts him by tilting his head forward and pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. At that, Sherlock’s mind goes blank. For a second, he doesn’t remember anything, not where he is, not when, not why, the only thing he knows is that John Watson is kissing him. It's a feeling of unknown sensation, something Sherlock has never felt before. His heart is beating so loudly that John can probably hear it. Sherlock slowly parts his lips and sinks deeper into the kiss. John tastes like toothpaste and aftershave and crime scenes and chasing criminals across London. He tastes like rainy sundays spent at Baker Street and like the perfume Sherlock secretly stole once because he wanted to smell John’s scent. Most prominently, however, he tastes like home.  


After a not long enough eternity, Sherlock pulls away. He has to ask this now, otherwise he probably never will. They have never been good at talking about such things.  


“John,” he pants, his lips still only centimetres apart from John’s.  


“Yeah?”  


“What does this mean? For you, I mean.”  


“It means that I’m finally doing what I should have a long time ago.”  


“So, you… you mean, you want this?”  


“Christ, Sherlock, I think I’ve made this pretty clear. Why, do you want to stop?”  


“No.” Sherlock responds too quickly. “I just wasn’t sure you’d want…this… me… in that way.” This is even more difficult than anticipated.  


“Why would you think that?”  


“Because no one ever has,” Sherlock admits.  


“I don’t think that’s true. And even if it was, I can assure you that I do. I actually never thought that you’d want this. You know, being married to your work and all that.”  


“Well, that was true for a long time. But after meeting you, my priorities shifted somehow. I just never had the courage to tell you.”  


“That’s why you’re an idiot.” Even though it’s pitch black, Sherlock can feel John smiling at him. “But that’s okay, ‘cause you’re my idiot.”  


The warmth in his chest expands even more. Sherlock decides that they talked enough for the night, grabs John’s head with his hand and presses their lips together again. After all, he can now use a language with John that’s so much more efficient than English.  


***  


He wakes up the next morning feeling John’s heavy arm around him. He turns around to face John, who is just waking up. John smiles up at him and Sherlock thinks his heart might be performing a backflip. There’s still a 3% chance left that the last night only happened in Sherlock’s dream.  


“Good morning” John says, bends forward and kisses him.  


0.8%.  


“Good morning, John. How did you sleep?”  


“Quite well, thank you. I hope you did, too?”  


Sherlock nods in response. _Can we stay like this all day? _He wants to ask.  
__

____

“So, what is the plan for today then?”  


It’s only now that Sherlock realises that they have to finish a case. The sooner they get it done, the faster he can focus on more important things. _The softness of John’s lips, for example. _  
__

____

“We need to go to Mr. Saltire’s house. I’ll explain everything there. Then we can drive back home.”  


After a short breakfast for John, they leave for Mr. Saltire’s mansion. It’s sunny and they decide to walk the short distance. Mr. Saltire seems to be expecting them and grins at them rather happily.  


“Ah, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, it’s so good to see you!”  


“You look much better, Mr. Saltire. Is there something you’d like to tell us?” Sherlock asks, trying his best to hide his own happiness.  


“No, unfortunately my dear son is still missing.” Mr. Saltire says and fails to look sad.  


“Then I’d like to tell you that we solved the case.”  


“You did?”  


“Yes, your son is at the _Fighting Cock Inn_. Although that’s no news to you, I presume.”  


Mr. Saltire looks confused and caught. How boring. John, on the other hand, looks at Sherlock with amazement and possibly something else.  


“What are you talking about? I have no idea – “  


“That your son has been at the inn for the last 24 hours? That your other son, I suppose illegitimate, wanted to kidnap Thomas and force you into changing your will? Or that it was our dear inn-keeper Mr. Hayes who actually did the kidnapping and murdered Mr. Heidegger?”  


“I… I don’t know what you’re talking… I never wanted this to happen…”  


“Apparently, so did your son. He told you everything, because the murder was too much for his poor soul. But you, you didn’t want to ruin your precious reputation or cause a scandal so you withheld the information from the police. You wanted Thomas to stay at the inn until you found a convenient solution.”  


“James has had a difficult life. I did it for his sake and for Thomas’!” Mr. Saltire shouts.  


“Tell that to the police,” Sherlock replies coldly and dials the number of the incompetent officer from the first day. He looks over to John who is still watching him.  


“That’s amazing, Sherlock. But what does this have to do with the cow traces?”  


Sherlock can’t keep himself from slightly blushing at the compliment. “Oh that. Well, there are no cows here, as you made me realise yesterday, so I figured they were accomplished by shoeing the horses with shoes shaped like cows’ hooves.”  


“Brilliant.”  


It appears that John is more prone to complimenting Sherlock now that they’ve kissed. Sherlock rather enjoys it.  


The police arrests Mr. Saltire for further questioning along with the inn-keeper for suspected murder. Thomas is found shortly afterwards in the cleaning chamber of the inn, exactly where Sherlock has seen him with his father and his half-brother James Wilder the previous night. As Dr. Huxtable explains while driving them to the station, James was found in his father’s mansion brewing over the possibilities to explain Thomas’ sudden re-appearance.  


***  


Sherlock and John sit next to each other on the train. It’s almost empty on a Monday noon. Sherlock looks out of the window and thinks about the case. It wasn’t the best one they’ve had, the solution was in fact quite boring and simple. But he can’t help but think that this case changed something momentous for him. He looks down at his hand lying close to John’s and wants nothing more but to take it. He carefully joins their fingers together and finds John looking up in surprise.  


“Is this okay?” he asks.  


“It’s more than okay,” John says and starts caressing Sherlock’s hand with his thumb. It feels fascinating. Sherlock doesn’t know whether he’ll ever get used to this. He feels like his chest will combust if he stares at John’s deep eyes any longer, but he can’t look away.  


“John? Can we share a bed more often? It’s just that I slept quite well next to you and it seems you sleep well next to me, so I guess it only makes sense.” Sherlock realises how needy he sounds. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t care.  


John laughs out loud. It’s this mixture between a giggle and a proper laugh that is unique to John Watson. Sherlock thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.  


“Yes, Sherlock. Sharing a bed sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this little Jonlock fluff.  
> Some feedback would be greatly appreciated :)


End file.
